


moon underwater

by aeonpathy



Series: put the sun in my hands [16]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Deities, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Tanabata, day six: time | devotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeonpathy/pseuds/aeonpathy
Summary: He hangs his paper on the bamboo and looks for Donghyuck, who’s standing on the bridge alone. Mark goes over and rests his chin on Donghyuck’s shoulder.“What did you wish for?” Mark asks. Donghyuck leans back to look at him.“You know what my writing looks like, loverboy, go look for it.”
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: put the sun in my hands [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1128143
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60
Collections: Markhyuck Week 2021





	moon underwater

**Author's Note:**

> iykyk ($10 if you know exactly what this is based off of)  
> 

Mark comes to when he hears the crowing of a rooster echo into the valley. The sun, barely over the spiked peaks of the mountains, gives little light. Bleary-eyed and half-out of it, he yawns, stretching his arms out wide until he hears little cracks from his joints. Slowly, his brain starts turning, frozen gears thawing into a steady rhythm as he looks around the room. 

Staring at the mirror that hangs above the black cabinets at the far end of the room, he runs his hand through his messy bed hair and takes in his unkempt appearance. Mark then notices the empty space next to him on the bed. He groans, forcing himself to roll out of bed and shrug into some sweats before sliding the bedroom door open. 

Sitting right outside in the hallway is Lola, the Bernese wagging her tail excitedly at the sight of him. Mark had gotten Lola the first month he arrived in town to take over his grandfather’s farm, to get away from the city and start new. He squats down and affectionately scratches her head, yelping when she pounces on him and topples the both of them over. Lola licks his face and gives him a solid woof like she’s saying, _“Good morning human, it’s time to get to work!”_

“Hey Lola,” Mark says, propping himself back up. Lola perks up at her name and then proceeds to roll onto her back, paws waving in the air as she scoots around and her tongue lolls out. He smiles at her playfulness, heart warming in his chest. It’s one of those things that gets him going, pumped up and ready to start the day in high spirits.

Mark stands up and peeks into the kitchen, the curtains to the windows open. Turning right he peeks into the living room also and still, nothing but the curtains are open. The sun glows as it rises into the sky.

Mark sighs and hurries back into the hallway. He totally doesn’t slam into the bathroom door like an idiot, no, he would never, and if Lola saw him, then no she didn’t. Grabbing his toothbrush from the cup, Mark leans against the counter and stares at the granite floor, brushing without a thought. A bird chirps outside. One of the cows moo. Mark is drawing blanks.

Until it hits him.

_“Oh shit,”_ Mark garbles, spitting the foam into the sink. He brushes a little more urgently, brushes faster, _harder,_ until he knows that his gums fucking hate him for putting them through hell, sensitive and crying blood. He splashes water on his face and scrubs it red. By the time Mark skirts the corner back into the bedroom, the clock reads 6:30 and the calendar hanging next to the closet door has a giant, yellow star on today’s date.

There’s a festival, and Mark’s already thirty minutes behind schedule.

As he pulls a shirt over his head and slips his feet into some socks, Mark has his brain working overtime, trying to calculate how long it’ll take him to finish his daily tasks, chalking it up to three hours if he’s on top of his game. By the time he’s out the front door and stomping in rubber boots, Lola right behind him, the sun’s clocking in at around nine. It's warm outside. The sun sends warm rays across the field. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and Mark is cracked. 

He hops the wooden fence to the big barn with practiced ease, opening the giant wooden doors to reveal his two cows, Betty and Bonnie. His sheep also stay in this barn, his Merino named Nori and his Suffolk named Dao. Mark walks to the table on the left wall and grabs the brush and a couple treats before heading to the cows. He rubs their heads gently and brushes them down. Bonnie shoves her face into his hand and he laughs, playing with her ears and giving her a little treat. After the cows, the sheep amble on over, and Mark takes his time combing through their wool, remembering to give them their treats and scratching the space under their chin. Nori bleats happily at him.

Mark stares at a metal bucket on the wall and decides against it, instead putting the brush away and grabbing the pitchfork instead. He scours the barn and spots a large pile and holds his breath. Although he’s used to the smell, it doesn’t mean he necessarily _enjoys_ it, and scoops it up. He walks back outside and flings the poop into a pile, where he’ll use it for fertilizer. Going back inside, he checks the wooden feeders to make sure they still have food. They do. 

“Lola! C’mon girlie,” he whistles, and Lola springs up and starts barking, herding the animals out to graze. Mark lets Lola do her thing and hops the fence to enter the coop. 

His hens are clucking around, peering at him curiously when they spot him. He opens a small container of seeds and sprinkles it in a pile next to him. They flock over immediately, pecking at the seeds. Mark counts them in his head, _1, 2, 3, 4, there’s the two Silkie’s, the Orpington—wait, where’s Char?_

Char’s his quail, a tiny, little quaint animal who’s an absolute dear, but trying to find her is like a needle in the haystack because for one, she’s tiny, and two, she blends in with her surroundings. He doesn’t need to look for her, though, as he spots a little motion blur flying past his feet and to the seed pile. She’s here. No need to panic. 

He lets his birds roam. People tell him that’s risky as hell, ask him if he’s scared of them flying off, but he’s not worried. They love him as much as he loves them. Full-circle, there’s enough love on this farm for everyone. Lola reappears and the chickens scramble into a corner. Mark snaps his fingers and she exits the coop. Before he leaves, he latches a little string attached to the coop door onto a metal hook, in case they decide to come out too. 

There are two smaller barns with their own separate, enclosed grazing areas, and the first one he goes into has his two Angora rabbits. The other one holds his llama and alpaca. Mark does the same—brushing them, feeding them little treats, petting them, and letting them come out. Lola herds the llama and alpaca out. She knows her job for the day is done, and barks at Mark. _I’m done, see you later, human!_ she wags, jumping over the fence and heading to the little playground he built for her.

When Mark sticks his head through the front door to check the time, it’s 8:06. He swaps his muddy, poopy boots out for some cleaner ones. He digs through the shed on the side of the house, grabbing a watering can, a basket, and some clippers. There’s a trail behind the barns that lead to another part of the farm, a two-tiered plot for all of his fruit trees and crops. The view is stunning, since it’s on the cliffside. The clouds float by, taking their time, watching as Mark sets his tools down and makes a jump for the orange tree. One falls on his head and he flinches. Wasn’t gravity discovered like this? Mark is no scientist, but he’s pretty sure a fruit falling on someone’s head should not have led to such a fundamental.

The rest of his trees are dead (they’re not, they’re hibernating) besides his almonds, the peach tree, and the list goes on. Actually, a lot of his fruit trees are producing right now. Whatever.

He didn’t come here to water the trees, he does that once a week, every Monday. Mark’s here for the second tier, where all of his seasonal crops are. There are stone steps that lead down to a bigger field, each a plot of vegetables. He starts on the vine ones, since they regrow, watering them and chucking the veggies he cuts off into the basket. He finishes watering and gathering before he even knows it. When Mark stands up, his back cracks and he groans. He needs a new back, fuck.

There’s another trail on the first tier that leads to his other plot of land, next to the river, but there’s nothing aside from machines over there, so he pays it no attention, going back to the house. Mark hauls the heavy basket on top of the shipping bin next to the path leading to the house and tries to catch his breath. It’s not easy running a farm, and he’s sacrificed a lot to get where he is now, a show-winning bread maker who’s out to dominate every other farm out there. He deserves it. 

Mark wonders if his grandfather would be proud. The surrounding towns, all whom Mark has very close, intense ties with, love and support him all the way. Like, come on, even the _Goddess of the Spring,_ the _Witch Princess,_ and the _dragon spirit_ —deities bound to their respectable town—have his back. _Magical deities._ Mark isn’t well versed in magic and such, but the first spring here when a girl with green pigtails suddenly appeared in front of him in thin air and told him he was special, he thought he was going crazy. He thought he was hallucinating.

He wasn’t.

Mark opens the shipping bin and pours all of the crops in, knowing that at 16:00 someone from Winterstol will come by and get them. His ties with Lukohe and Tekuyasa are interwoven deeply; Mark is the farmer sworn by the prophecy to help those who need it, and he’s worked his ass off trying to build himself from being the ‘city boy farmer’ to Mark _Lee,_ grandson of one of the most respected people to have lived here, the boy who rebuilt the world. Legacies built on decades of family lineage, Mark has to do his part to keep it thriving.

His grandfather has to be proud. There’s no way he isn’t, not when the farm has transformed so much in as little as just three years. Mark would be damned if anyone told him anything else. 

The sun is almost at the highest point in the sky. Mark takes that as his sign and tiredly shucks off his boots, entering the house. The curtains are still open. No one’s here. Mark goes to take a hot shower. The water relaxes his muscles and washes away the grime and sweat off his body, gets the hidden dirt between his fingers, possible stray hairs from the animals under his nails, and comes out fresher than a turnip scrubbed clean.

With a towel slung low around his hips, there are little rivulets of water sliding down his body. His hair is wet. Mark enters the bedroom and opens the closet. He pulls out a plain black t-shirt and another pair of sweats, sitting on the bed and drying his hair with a smaller towel until it’s soft and poofy. When Mark looks at the mirror, he’s the opposite of this morning. He looks good. He’d say he looks _fuckable_ , sharp bones of his collars and hips jutting out and catching the light, shoulders buffed up, arms toned, abs soft but defined at the same time. The fruits of his labor or whatever. 

“Tonight’s the Star Festival,” he sing-songs to himself, grabbing his backpack and shoving his phone, wallet, and a metal flask of ice cold water in it. He grabs a peach out of a bowl on the dining room table and slips into his white sneakers, a little worse for wear but hey, it’s what happens when someone wears white on a farm.

“Bye-bye Lola,” he calls, spotting her by her water bowl. Lola _arfs_ back at him. Mark exits the farm, walking onto a trail. From here, there are different places he could go. The first path on the right leads further up the mountain to the summit, the path on the left leads down to the crossroads, and the path straight ahead leads to his current destination. 

The forest is super pretty. It took Mark a while to get used to it, large trees bordering the trails. There are all sorts of rocks and wild flowers growing on the sides, and if Mark’s lucky, he’ll spot a fox or some other animal. There are lanterns hanging from the trees when it’s dark. Mark’s been on plenty of romantic walks here.

The trees thin out when Mark arrives. Seeing this farm reminds him of his first week, walking to each and every town to say hello. He’d walked into this farm, only to find out he had a rival. Someone competitive, someone who always got under his skin, but someone who had been there for him when he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Mark passes by the bison named Sen, pets the head of some Jersey cows, and doesn’t bother knocking, walking inside and plopping his backpack next to the shoe rack. 

There’s music coming from the kitchen. Mark finds himself smiling at the familiarity, something comforting about the voice. He spots a boy standing in front of the stove, wearing a thin button up and ripped jeans, stirring something in a wok. It smells delightful, and Mark’s reminded that he hasn’t eaten anything other than a peach for breakfast, but doesn’t heed it as he wraps his arms loosely around the other’s waist, shoving his face into his warm neck. 

Donghyuck smells like clean laundry, the same scent left on Mark’s bed, and he buries his face deeper, content to stay like this for the rest of the day. The other chuckles, wrapping a hand around Mark’s wrist and bringing it up. He feels a soft kiss pressed against the back of his hand. Mark kisses Donghyuck’s neck just the same.

Falling in love with the rival wasn’t in Mark’s plans. Falling in love definitely was, don’t get him twisted, but his _rival?_ He thought he’d end up with the tea house owner’s daughter, or maybe with the daughter of the carpenter in Winterstol _._ Instead, it’s the guy whose family has been rivals with his family. Legacies built on decades of family lineage, but this wasn’t written in it. This is his own doing. Blasphemous. Absolutely sinful. Oh buddy, his friends back at home are gonna have some things about this. His parents already had a mouthful when they found out exactly who Donghyuck was.

Mark doesn’t post Donghyuck’s face on his socials, but posts photos of their calloused hands. Donghyuck’s engagement ring tends to travel, sometimes it’s on a thin chain around his neck, sometimes in the form of an anklet (expected from a _Lukohe_ boy, where the waters are crystal clear with warm, sandy beaches), and on days where not much work is needed to be done, it’s on his ring finger. Mark’s a Tekuyasa person apparently, since his cousin is a Tekuyasa native. His ring hangs around his neck. The other common place, traditional, is having it pierced on the cuff of his right ear. 

“Why’d you leave me so early,” Mark mumbles, swaying them back and forth.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer immediately. He stirs the wok again, then reaches to pause the music playing from his phone. The sound of sizzling fills the silence. “My farm doesn’t stop existing, loverboy,” Donghyuck says, “and even though we’re engaged now, it’s still _my_ farm, it's not going anywhere any time soon. You of all people should know this already.” 

He does know that already. Even though they’ve been in love for a year or two, engaged for exactly four months, they still are just as competitive. They still go against each other in every harvest festival, every animal show, and even when the towns have their own little fun events against each other, Donghyuck plays for Lukohe _._ Mark still has free reign on who he gets to team with.

“Besides, there’s a festival today, it means I have to do everything early if it means I get more time with you,” Donghyuck says, turning the stove off.

Now Mark knows he looks goofy as hell right now, mouth in a big grin and eyes dumbstruck with love. He can’t help it. Donghyuck just makes him happy. There’s no big explanation behind it. Just a boy in love with his whole, red, mushy-gushy heart. Mark wants to kiss him silly, wants to drag him into the bedroom and pin him to the bed, wants to wake up next to him every morning. 

“We still have to go back and change for tonight, anyways,” Mark says, reluctantly unwrapping himself from Donghyuck’s back. He opens his mouth when a pair of chopsticks with a sautéed piece of pumpkin is waved in front of him. It’s delicious, sweet and savory and oily with minced garlic. Soft, too. Donghyuck licks the small bit of pumpkin left on the chopstick, his pink tongue wrapping around, cleaning it. Mark breathes through his nose harshly. 

Donghyuck turns around at him and blinks at him, pretty mouth pursed into a pout. That little vixen’s got Mark all over him and he knows it. Knows Mark’s a sucker for anything he does. “You like it?” he asks, faux innocence splayed on his face. Mark eats it up hungrily.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, staring, flames licking up the sides of his stomach, teasing. “Good as always.”

But he only fans the fire. Pokes at the burning lumbers, the supports on Mark’s sanity burning down. Loose embers shooting out. A smoldering heat, and Donghyuck’s the cause of it all. He’s dangerous, and Mark wonders how much longer he can hold out.

“You wanna head into town with me?” Mark asks, diverting the energy somewhere else. Maybe later. He’ll come back to it later. It catches Donghyuck off-guard at least, the heat behind his eyes vanishing into nonexistent wisps of smoke. Donghyuck stands on his tippy-toes and opens the kitchen cabinet, grabbing a container and dumping all of the sautéed pumpkin in it. Securing the lid, he promptly hands it to Mark, who takes it and places it on the counter.

Donghyuck begins washing the wok.

Three heartbeats pass. Four. A good handful heartbeats pass, and Donghyuck’s fucking around with the bubbles in the sink. 

“Which town?” Donghyuck jokes, finally scrubbing. 

“I was thinking we could head back home first, maybe? And we could then go from Lukohe to Tekuyasa, since they all have that connecting path, y’know?” he says. Donghyuck places the cleaned wok in the dishwasher (because who the hell actually uses the dishwasher?) and turns to look at him, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. 

“Why don’t we go to Lukohe first, then go back home so we can change, then head into Tekuyasa?”

It sounds redundant to go back and forth, but Mark is the one who gives in. “Sure, why not,” he says, grabbing the container and walking back to the foyer. He grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “You got everything?”

“I only brought my phone and keys,” he replies, shoving Mark out of the house. He puts on his boots and winks. “You gotta wait for me, loverboy, I got animals to put away.”

Mark rolls his eyes and shoos him away, taking his phone out. It’s 11:42. He looks through his messages and suddenly, Donghyuck’s course of action makes more sense now. They’ll head to Lukohe to drop off the food, go back so Mark can put the animals back in and they can change, and spend the rest of the day in Tekuyasa _._ Always thinking ahead. Donghyuck’s good at that.

He stands there for like, maybe eighteen minutes, and he hears the nasty slop of mud-caked boots nearing. He looks up and Donghyuck’s giving him finger guns. He sits on the steps next to Mark and slides his boots off, changing them for some black leather Chelsea boots. Mark swears Donghyuck’s got at least ten pairs of ‘em. 

“You walk all the way here in those?” Mark asks in mild judgement. Donghyuck makes a face at him.

“No, I rode Esa over here,” he says, jabbing a thumb towards the horse stables. That makes a lot more sense. 

“Well. Are we ready to go?”

Donghyuck double checks to make sure the door is locked and grabs Mark’s free hand. They walk off the farm and back into the mountains, turning right onto the path to the crossroads. They don’t talk much, most of it pointing out stuff like _hey, did you see that squirrel throw that acorn?_ and _dude, I swear I just saw a fucking brown bear behind that tree._ The entire time, though, they’re just—they’re just trying to get more of each other.

They sneak glances, walk closer until their shoulders bump together, giggle when they catch each other staring. They enjoy singing, too. If one of them starts singing, the other will join. They’re like a packaged deal. 

They finally arrive at the crossroads. To anyone new, the crossroads are a sight to see. Mark experienced that feeling when he was new. There are more paths, three of them to be exact, and each one has an archway at the front. Each one is built in a different style, reflective of each town’s architecture, and it’s something that gets his eyes wandering. Between Tekuyasa’s and Lukohe’s paths is a small waterfall that empties out into a pond. There’s a few wild animals hanging around the water source. There’s also a few wild flowers and herbs.

If Mark’s really lucky, sometimes he’ll spot cute little froggies on the lily pads. Or materials he needs for house remodeling. Yup. That reminds him to check his notes app.

Donghyuck pulls him left to Lukohe, their archway made out of big pieces of dried bamboo and tied together with twine spun from palm fibers. Two large discs painted in traditional patterns hang on their own, smaller arches on either side of the bigger arch. It takes about fifteen minutes of more walking until they reach the town.

Mark feels the difference before he sees it. It’s always warmer, _sunnier_ in Lukohe, no matter the season or weather. It looks like the beaches you see on fancy postcards or beside those expensive hotels Mark was used to seeing videos about back in the city. It’s a tiny coastal paradise. The town isn’t that large. There’s maybe five shops, a seaside cafe, an inn, houses of everyone who lives here, and there’s a communal kitchen somewhere. Oh, and the _Witch Princess’_ lair, a place sealed in one of the rooms of the old temple ruins in the upper part of town that only he has access to. Crazy stuff, honestly. 

Every town kinda has the same set up. There’s always a north and south of the towns, essentially splitting them in two parts, there’s some magical deity guarding it, and damn near the same amount of people in each one. He’s seriously wondering how shit like this happens.

Lukohe has the shops and the seaside cafe in the southern part. There’s a large wooden dock that Mark helped build. There’s a few tourists roaming, too. He waves to Kalila, the lady who runs the general store. Lukohe’s got weird business hours. Shops open from 7:00 to 12:00, then reopen from 17:00 to 22:00. If Mark needs seeds or upgrades, he always plans his trips accordingly. 

Mark checks the time, and it’s now 12:37. That probably explains why Kalila’s going into her house, eating lunch with her husband and two kids. Donghyuck had let go of his hand as soon as they arrived, which is normal. This is his home. This is where he was raised. Except, Donghyuck no longer blends in. Well, he does, with his tanned skin and bright smile, welcoming demeanor, but he sticks out with his outfit, definitely not beach appropriate. Mark walks up the ramp to the seaside cafe, where Donghyuck is sitting at the bar and chatting with the twins, Silua and Ilua.

The twins wear matching two-piece dresses, but the difference is that Silua wears purple and Ilua wears red. Silua can straight up tell him how he’s feeling, and Ilua can tell him about tomorrow’s weather. She’s never been wrong.

“Aw, look who’s here, hey Markie-pooh,” Ilua greets, already poking fun at him. Silua smiles warmly and waves at him.

Another difference is that Ilua won’t hesitate to be blunt, whereas Silua is more reserved. Donghyuck pats the seat next to him. They stay for a bit, Donghyuck in a heated conversation with Ilua about the upcoming fishing tournament. Silua slides him a watermelon smoothie.

“On the house,” she tells him. He thanks her profusely, and they both watch Ilua and Donghyuck go at it. 

Donghyuck grew up with Ilua and Silua. They’re practically his sisters at this point. Mark sees where he gets certain traits from. 

“Okay, I gotta get going,” Donghyuck says, grabbing Mark’s hand. He gives Ilua a look. “Grandma’s been pestering me about not seeing her enough.”

That’s what lets them escape. The northern part of town has a large area for a bonfire, where the townsfolk gather in the evening and chat. Also here are a few houses, the communal kitchen, the inn, and the ruins. They enter the inn first.

“Ah, grandson, is that you?” Donghyuck’s grandma, the town chief, calls, smiling at him from her perch behind the podium. Donghyuck pulls her into a hug, and Mark observes it all, a fly on the wall. His grandma spots him and motions him over. He lied. He’s no longer a fly on the wall and he’s participating in a group hug instead.

They stay only for a few minutes because she realizes that today’s the Star Festival and none of them look the part. Mark hands her the sautéed pumpkin and she gives him some freshly baked coconut cookies in return. They’re out of the door and walking back down and out, back at the crossroads. They begin the journey back home.

Donghyuck’s munching on a cookie when he hums, lost in thought. “Now that I think about it, this is the first time I’ll be going to the festival with you, huh?” 

Before they got together, Donghyuck had never attended the Star Festival, understandably, since it’s a Tekuyasa tradition for lovers. They could’ve gone last year, but Donghyuck was too anxious. Mark holds his hand tighter. He even got an outfit tailored for Donghyuck, for this exact moment. “I’m gonna make sure you enjoy every second tonight,” Mark promises, voice soft. Donghyuck beams radiantly, oh so beautifully, and Mark has the urge to try harder.

“I’d like that,” he answers truthfully. 

Mark’s been waiting for this. Precisely. A bunny rabbit hops by. The sounds of water rushing past fills Mark’s head, drowning him in his own thoughts. Donghyuck likes the little things, but Mark wants to give him everything of all shapes and sizes until they both can’t keep up. He just wants to spoil him.

They arrive back at Mark’s farm. Lola rushes to them, hopping around Donghyuck’s legs and he giggles, scrunching up Lola’s ears and running a palm down her back. “Yeah yeah, I’m back, who’s a good girl? It’s you,” Donghyuck coos, voice raising into a higher pitch.

They’re cute together. Mark’s heart doubles in size, like those toys people drop in water and wait for to expand. 

Mark slips into his boots and Donghyuck follows as they herd the animals back in, Lola going _arf arf woof!_ at the cows. Char, thankfully, runs her tiny self back into the coop and Leia, one of his Silkie's, chases after her.

Donghyuck leaves to quickly wash up and Mark brings Lola inside to eat. As she wolfs down her food, Mark opens his personal wardrobe and unhangs two outfits, specifically made for Tekuyasa festivals. The Lukohe outfits are in Donghyuck’s, on the other side of the bed. 

They’re matching and complementary, because Mark is a romantic and likes the cutesy shit, contrary to popular belief. Total ass-kisser for those kinds of things. All that good stuff. His is a muted, burnt-orange jinbei with gold threaded clouds, with black cotton shorts and a black cloth belt. Donghyuck has the light pear-green colored one, with silver flax threaded waves, complete with a white cloth belt and matching shorts. They have the wooden sandals to go with it, but walking all the way back in them would kill their feet. He shoves them in his backpack instead.

An angel appears, water-logged and all, but still beautiful. Mark grabs the small towel from earlier that he left on the table and dries Donghyuck’s dark brown hair. The latter traces the embroidery on his jinbei, shiny, shimmery flax thread, all made for him. 

“So this is what you’ve been waiting to show me,” Donghyuck says, looking at Mark. He nods.

Mark grabs his own and meets Donghyuck’s eyes in the mirror. He tugs his shirt off and slips into his top. “It took me a while to gather the materials to make them,” Mark admits sheepishly, wrapping the belt around his waist. “But Yuta was more than happy to tailor both outfits. I’m glad you like ‘em.”

He holds up Donghyuck’s top. “Let me help you.”

And he dresses Donghyuck up like a doll, poised and model packaged. Donghyuck has absolutely no business looking this good, none, and Mark now realizes why his fiancé wins each fashion show every fall. Farmer, model, rival, lover, Donghyuck’s got a long list of titles to his name. 

When he checks the clock, it’s already 14:09. Because it’s summer, the sun sets around 19:00. Mark reckons they’ll be back home around 23:00 if they stay the entire festival duration. If he’s right, by the time they arrive in Tekuyasa by, uh, 14:50? Something like that.

“Let’s go?” he asks, and Donghyuck slides a satchel over his body. He grabs his phone, keys, and wallet and perches his sunglasses on the top of his head. Mark hands him his lip balm and ring. 

Donghyuck now wears his dirty sneakers. Lola barks at them as they walk back out of the farm. Mark hadn’t realized the amount of walking he does on a daily basis, too lazy to saddle up his horses just to head out. At least he doesn’t skip leg day. It keeps him in shape, he supposes. He unzips his backpack and hands the water flask to Donghyuck, who takes it gratefully. 

Summer isn’t that kind in the mountains. The heat is sweltering and the sun doesn’t relent in the slightest. Even the rain is warm, which becomes sticky when dry. Mark hates that kind of rain. Donghyuck? Loves it. Plays under it with Lola and calls Mark a wuss all in the same breath. He’ll still kiss him under the rain any day, though.

The journey is the same routine. It takes them approximately ten minutes to walk down and get to the crossroads. Tekuyasa’s archway, a stone and black-tiled traditional garden gate with lanterns—greets them. Bamboo trees line the pebble path. It only takes five minutes to get to town, because Tekuyasa is built on the same river that runs through Mark’s property. They arrive in Tekuyasa’s southern area. 

It’s mainly rice paddies with a small stream, two houses and a firewood chopping area, but still scenic and pretty nonetheless. Jeno, his cousin, lives in the smaller house on the left with Yuta. He’s the seed shopkeeper, so Mark sees him way too often. But Jeno’s not home, nor is he working, and he’s either hanging out with Shotaro, the tea house owner’s son, or flirting with Yangyang, the grandson of the elderly couple, who lives in a small shack next to theirs and makes jewelry. 

Donghyuck bashfully waves at the elderly couple as they coo at the two of them when they pass their house, right before heading into the northern part of town. Donghyuck doesn’t get flustered easily, knows his worth and makes it so that confidence chases _him_ instead, but when he’s with Mark, that all seems to change. He makes Donghyuck nervous, and Mark can tally that on his side of the board.

The northern part of town is where all the shops are, where the river runs through with two bridges scattered throughout, a spa, and the dragon spirit’s shrine, a curious guardian named Inami, awoken from a deep slumber when Calla (the _Goddess of the Spring)_ and Wena’ko (the _Witch Princess)_ accidentally got into a fight. He spots Jeno almost immediately. He’s hanging streamers and paper decorations around with Shotaro. He spots Aeri and Winter setting up the bamboo trees up for the tanzaku. 

“Hey guys,” Mark shouts, and Jeno’s head whips towards him.

He clambers down the ladder and bear hugs him, making Mark grunt at the force. “Dude,” Jeno yells in his ear, “you finally brought Donghyuck to _Tanabata?_ About fuckin’ time!”

Shotaro laughs, patting Mark’s back as greeting. He hears Aeri also laugh at Jeno’s words. When he turns to look at her, she gives him jazz hands, and when he looks at Winter, she winks. 

Donghyuck blushes instantaneously, shoving Jeno’s shoulder and hiding his face behind his hand. Mark grins and tugs him closer, kissing the mole next to his nose. He groans, shoving Mark away and hiding behind Shotaro.

“I hate it here,” he cries, face flaming, “where the hell is Yangyang?”

It’s like Yangyang’s a ghost, because he comes out of nowhere and scares the daylights out of everyone. 

“I was at the tea house with Ningning and Yerim,” he says, shrugging. “Hi Mark, don’t mind me, just stealing Donghyuck for a bit.” He can’t even say anything though, Yangyang is already dragging him away, not taking any answers. 

Mark’s task now is to help around. He asks Jeno if he can put his bag in his house and Jeno tells him the door’s been unlocked all day. So he tells everyone he’ll be right back, quickly making a pit stop by the tea house. He flips Yerim off when she teases him and gets on his life (to which she flips him back), and gives Donghyuck the wooden sandals in exchange for his sneakers. After, he runs to Jeno’s, places his bag on the sofa, slides into his own sandals, places the shoes at the front entrance, and books it back into town. 

It’s simple things like hanging decorations and making sure the tanzaku don’t fly away from the table, and swatting at the air when flies get too close to the snacks. 

The time on his phone reads 16:20. Three whole hours to kill, and Mark decides to kill it in the rock skipping game, beating his personal record of eight skips with eleven. He wrestles with Jeno, tries to beat Winter at the sesame transfer game (he fails miserably), and spends a whole hour playing tag. Festival days are nice because Mark doesn’t have to worry about the farm or being an adult. He can be young again and enjoy the company he has.

The sun is setting at the three o’clock mark. The orange and reddish hues from the horizon start to disappear, and the purple and dark blue of the night begin to fill the sky. The lanterns turn on and the town plaza is whimsical, the epitome of tranquility, bright but dark at the same time. Donghyuck comes back and holds his hand.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he says into Mark’s ear. His eyes twinkle like the stars. “What’s the history of the Star Festival?”

“It’s about two lovers who were banished from seeing each other,” Mark begins, glancing at the stars in the sky, “and that they could only meet on the seventh day of the seventh month. When they tried to meet each other, there was a river separating them. The Weaver cried because there was no bridge to cross to see the Cowherd, so a flock of magpies formed one for her. It’s said that if it rains on Tanabata, the river is too high and the magpies can’t make the bridge. The rain is them crying, because they'll have to wait another year to see each other.”

When he finishes, he finds Donghyuck looking at their interlocked hands. Fiddling with them. Playing with the ring on his finger. “Ain’t that ironic,” he says, and Mark exhales softly. “What about the wish papers?”

“Oh, the tanzaku? You can use a calligraphy pen or an actual brush with ink. You write your wish for the year on it and hang it on one of the bamboo trees,” Mark says, pointing to the multiple pots filled with bamboo.

“Can I write my wish?” Donghyuck asks. He stares at Mark expectantly, and he gulps. 

He shakes his head. “Not yet, we still have to go to the river bank and send paper flowers down. After that, you can write and hang it.”

Donghyuck rushes him to the river bank, where mostly all the younger townsfolk are. It looks like Jeno and Yangyang are attempting to build a paper ship instead. Donghyuck sits between Mark and Yerim, copying her instructions on how to make a paper lotus. Their feet dip into the water. It’s clear. Mark spots a fish swim past. A few paper flowers and boats are making their way down the river.

The moon is here. It’s above Mark’s head, reflecting on the surface. When he makes a small splash, it goes under for a second. The moon’s basically a giant pearl sitting in the sky, reflecting the sun’s light. Pearls are found in the water; they’re small, and they tend to sink. The moon floats in the sky and is massive. Part of something way bigger.

Reminds him of something. 

“Baby,” he whispers, and Donghyuck hums, pausing his folding. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the shrine real quick, alright?”

Donghyuck starts folding again, squeezing Mark’s wrist before letting him go. Mark dusts his shorts off and stands, walking to the shrine. It’s next to the small school and behind the animal and general goods stall. 

Inami’s shrine is behind a bamboo fence, with two large stone lanterns at either side of the entrance. There are two dragon statues and between them, a small archway and tiny Shinto shrine. In front stands a young boy with silver horns sticking out of his head, wearing a _montsuki haori hakama,_ a dark red haori with a white nagagi and black hakama. 

Mark presses his hands together and bows ninety degrees. “Happy Tanabata, Inami.”

Inami looks at him, eyes lit up and excited. “Mark! It’s Tanabata. My shrine looks better than ever, does it not? You aided in decorating it for tonight's festival. My thanks for your assistance, yet again. Go along now, do not worry about me. Enjoy the night. Thank you for stopping by, though!”

Mark smiles and nods, waving, before hurrying back. He rounds the corner, rounds the next corner, and is surprised to see everyone next to the red maple trees. 

“Yo,” Yangyang calls, flicking his finger at Mark, motioning him over. “Make a wish, Mark. It’s time to hang your tanzaku.”

Mark writes down what he wants. Another year of quality harvests and love. Full-circle. Inami is the most consistent guardian, never failing to grant everyone's wishes.

He hangs his paper on the bamboo and looks for Donghyuck, who’s standing on the bridge alone. Mark goes over and rests his chin on Donghyuck’s shoulder.

“What did you wish for?” Mark asks. Donghyuck leans back to look at him. 

“You know what my writing looks like, loverboy, go look for it.”

Mark pinches his hip before leaving to search for Donghyuck’s wish. He reads through a few. Jeno wishes for love, he recognizes Yuta’s handwriting and notes that he wishes for more clothing inspirations, and then he spots Donghyuck’s messy scrawl, reaching to hold it between his index and middle finger.

_I wish for a child to call my own._

Mark freezes, rereading the words to make sure he’s not tripping. He’s not. Mark's heart starts beating weirdly and it’s overwhelming him. _Donghyuck wants a kid,_ Mark thinks, then his heart explodes at the sudden implication. 

He wants a kid with _me._

And Mark, oh, poor Mark, he doesn’t know how he hasn’t fainted yet. Part of him is shocked, obviously, but the other, bigger part of him is over the moon ecstatic, head warm and fuzzy with the thought of Donghyuck with a baby. With _their_ baby. The fire starts to lick up his sides again, thrumming through his veins like a storm threatening to destroy everything in its wake. Mark is selfless, kind, compassionate, but he’s the greediest man he knows when it comes to Donghyuck.

Letting the piece of paper slip away, Mark’s body is on auto-pilot at this point. He goes back to the bridge where Donghyuck is. The other is staring at him, leaning against the railing with his head resting on the palm of his hand. Waiting. Inviting. Mark’s supports are tumbling down, everything he’s written in the books, every win and trophy counted in his name, the legacy he carries on no match for the boy in front of him. 

_“You,”_ he growls, getting up close and personal, gripping Donghyuck’s hips until his arms shake, _"are going to be the death of me.”_

Donghyuck raises a brow at him. Poking the embers. Fanning the flames.

“We’re going home. _Now.”_

Mark tries not to let it get to his head but it’s all cloudy. He barely remembers saying bye to everyone and stopping by Jeno’s to retrieve his stuff, all he knows right now is that Donghyuck’s tucked into his side and warm and solid and there and so fucking beautiful, his doe eyes and pink lips and tawny, smooth skin all there for Mark to touch and feel. He’s losing his mind. 

The walk home is also a blurry, jumbled mess in Mark’s head, a blender with the way everything’s getting shredded up in there. Oh yeah, there’s no recovering from this. Brain goo and skull chunks all day from now on. 

Somehow they make it back in one piece (well, Mark’s head is not on his body, but everything else seems to still be intact at least) and Mark is fumbling with the door. Lola stares at them from her bed, deciding whether or not she should walk over to them, but decides that it's not worth it and it's best to leave. She slips past them. Smart move on her part.

It's 21:57 when Mark pushes Donghyuck through the sliding doors of the bedroom and he rips the belt off his waist and slides his shirt off. Donghyuck’s doing the same, but Mark is impatient right now, shoving him onto the bed and untying his belt with eager hands, slipping his jinbei off his shoulders.

“Y’know, I wasn’t expecting _this_ when you came back,” Donghyuck pants, pulling Mark on top of him. “I thought you’d be more sappy about it, less horny.”

“You’ve been acting up all day, and you think that I’m not gonna do something about it? Really?” Mark huffs.

He doesn’t let Donghyuck say any more, pinning the younger’s wrists to the bed and biting down his heaving chest. Donghyuck squirms around, sensitive. Mark comes back up and kisses him properly, tugging at his lip and sliding his tongue in. Donghyuck latches onto the waistband of Mark’s boxer briefs, licking his tongue against Mark’s, slow and calculated.

They pull back when Mark’s head starts going haywire, breathing heavily. He looks down and his dick twitches at the sight.

“God, _baby,”_ Mark groans, good grips on Donghyuck’s ass, licking all over his collarbones, imprinting himself all over him. Mark’s gonna make a fucking mess out of him, knock him up until he’s fucked stupid and drooling.

Donghyuck whimpers when Mark rubs his nipples roughly, all while kissing down his neck, leaving red hickies everywhere, grabbing more of Donghyuck’s skin, the globes of his ass in Mark’s hands.

Mark flips them over and lets Donghyuck straddle him, bucking his hips up. Donghyuck’s mouth partly opens in a sigh, a thin line of spit connecting from his lips. It’s so goddamn stuffy, and Mark keeps grinding against Donghyuck, whose hands brace against his chest and whose eyes are distant, cloudy. 

“Tell me what you want,” Mark says darkly, watching the way Donghyuck shudders on his lap. He looks down at him with a flush all over his body, the body that won’t stop canting its hips up, chasing that spark of pleasure.

He props himself up against Mark’s legs and rolls his hips slowly, moaning quietly. Mark reaches out, settling his hands on Donghyuck’s waist, burning the shape of them into his skin, and guides him, pupil-swallowed eyes watching him. A show, just for him. Donghyuck’s head tilts to the side and he doesn’t say anything. Just the warmth of his palms on Mark’s thighs.

“However you want it,” he murmurs, a particular roll of his hips _hard._ Mark groans. His ears are blocked, that feeling when the pressure shifts and the body can’t adjust in time. 

Mark halts Donghyuck’s movements and presses him against the sheets once again. Touches him everywhere, squeezes his neck as a tease, leaves feather-light touches over the tent in his trunks, slaps his ass before smoothing his hands over it. Mark wants to eat him, wants a taste of everything, wants to fuck him so good it’s got them seeing a different type of star. 

He hitches Donghyuck’s legs over his shoulders, pretty long legs with scars and tan lines. Mark likes to micromanage, likes to take it slow, first licking and nipping at the skin where his inner thigh meets his crotch. Donghyuck’s trembling, the heat between his thighs pressed against Mark’s cheek. Mark holds the plush of his thighs when Donghyuck begins to thrash around.

“Can’t wait to get you all filthy for me,” Mark whispers, staring up at Donghyuck. He’s got his mouth open in a silent moan, tendons on his neck tensed up, and his hands make their way into Mark’s hair, any form of purchase to ground himself down. “Gonna fuck you so hard, gonna fuckin’ _ruin_ you until all you know is my name baby. You’re so damn good like this.”

Donghyuck sobs, his thighs snapping shut, crushing Mark’s head between them. He grins wickedly and grabs them, forcing them apart. 

_“Please,”_ Donghyuck begs, voice watery, “more, I—anything, _please.”_

“I got you,” Mark says, kissing his stomach. Warm and soft. Mark loves every part of Donghyuck. Wants all of him, inside, outside. Wants him everywhere. “I’ll give you more, I promise.”

But Donghyuck looks debauched like this, everything about him screaming shameless. A demon he is, a creature luring him in and eating his heart. Burning him to ashes when he’s done feasting. Yet, Mark’s still here unscathed. Donghyuck’s a demon who’s got him trapped instead, got him trapped between his legs, trapped with a shiny ring around his finger, about to trap him with a kid soon. And Mark willingly goes with it. Doesn't care anymore. Ever since Donghyuck had shown up in his life, he decided that he’ll just let the coin flip itself.

So Mark prolongs, draws it out for as long as he can without him cracking under the pressure. Rubs small circles into Donghyuck’s hip bones, licks along until his skin's wet, slowly sliding his trunks down more, revealing more skin for Mark to leave bruises on, to kiss, to bite, to worship. Donghyuck’s still shaking, hands yanking Mark’s hair, pulling at his roots, letting out those little breathy whines all for Mark’s own pleasure. A tune that’ll keep him up at night when Donghyuck’s not there by his side on nights that call for it.

He finally slides the fabric off and drags it down his legs, chucking it somewhere behind him. He’ll bother with it later. Mark sits up and peers down at Donghyuck, heart stuttering in his chest. 

“I'm pretty much in love with you,” he confesses. Donghyuck’s about to retort but whatever it is, it dies in his throat as Mark silences him. Mark strokes him where he's all drippy and pulsating and stiff, gently, careful with the fact that it’s dry skin rubbing up against each other. His other hand sinks next to Donghyuck’s head on the mattress and he leans down, kissing him, peppering them over the moles on his face, the one on his neck lovingly and awfully tender.

Mark’s a little obsessed. 

On the seventh day of the seventh month, Mark crosses the magpie bridge and holds Donghyuck’s hands, whispering promises and much more into his ear. Rocks him into the bed. Rivalry and farm legacies are left behind. The water from the river keeps him afloat.

Mark is in love, and he’ll wait each and every eternity to be by Donghyuck's side.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me next month (year?) when i write jaeten in the monster hunter verse
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laoxaichay)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/laoxaichay)


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